


Xenobiology Pop Quiz

by Ryuutchi, sarawats_boob_obsession



Category: DCU (Comics), Young Justice (Comics)
Genre: 90s Young Justice, Interspecies Sex, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mutual Non-Con, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Secret Crush, Tentacles, Xenophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-05
Updated: 2020-12-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:01:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27900427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ryuutchi/pseuds/Ryuutchi, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarawats_boob_obsession/pseuds/sarawats_boob_obsession
Summary: Kryptonian puberty comes with certain challenges. Robin and Superboy face those challenges together.
Relationships: Tim Drake/Kon-El | Conner Kent
Comments: 2
Kudos: 71
Collections: Consent Issues Exchange 2020





	Xenobiology Pop Quiz

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Val_Creative](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Val_Creative/gifts).



Kon flopped dramatically in a chair, head tipped back. Tim could see beads of sweat glimmering into existence at Kon’s hairline under the laboratory lights, stray strands of wavy hair sticking to his forehead. He asked, “So, what’s wrong with me, doc?” His voice was hoarse and low in a way that worked a shiver down Tim’s spine.

“I’m not sure yet,” Tim said, stiffly tucking his body’s reaction away and turning toward the standing desk to focus on his (bat-)computer screen. “I looked at Batman’s dossier on Kryptonian biology, but there are some… gaps.” Tim skimmed the documents as he pulled them up and keyed between windows while summarizing. “Kryptonians don’t usually get sick unless it’s something alien-- and we haven’t been off-world.” He hummed, thoughtful, watching Kon wriggle uncomfortably in his chair from the corner of his eye. “And with your half-human biology, it could be something unique. Let’s go over everything again.” Tim settled himself into a rolling chair and spun to look Kon up and down.

With a groan, Kon sat up, rubbing the outside of one thigh with his thumb as though trying to rid himself of a muscle ache. “Okay, so on Friday I thought it was just that Knockout threw me against that monument-- you know the one, it’s made out of some sort of weird titanium alloy-- and it just fucked my back and hips up. But then it didn’t fade and my back started to really hurt, and I’m just, warm all the time.” He brushed a damp lock of hair from his face, and grimaced. “I’m not explaining this right,” he mumbled.

Tim stood, collecting his tools from the (bat-)cabinet along one wall of the (bat-)infirmary. “Okay, so we start with your temperature and heartbeat. I already have a baseline for those. Take your shirt off.” Kon did as he was told without even a joke, which was slightly concerning in itself. Tim was pretty certain even without checking that Kon had a fever-- his chest shone with sweat, but small shivers ran through him in an irregular pattern. The question was how much of a fever, so Tim checked all of Kon’s vitals anyway, recording them: high blood pressure, high temperature still slowly rising, rapid heartbeat. 

Tim patted Kon’s chest in reassurance as he finished and Kon surprised them both by pressing into the touch with a groan. Kon’s eyes went unfocused momentarily before he realized what he was doing and jerked away. Tim pulled his hand back as though he’d been scalded, fingertips tingling. “Kon? Tell me what’s up with you.” Tim hoped that his blush wasn’t too noticeable, too dark.

Kon’s eyes had gone wide and Tim noticed that his pupils were dilated. “I-- shit. Rob. That wasn’t,” Kon swallowed hard and stopped talking, hunching over.

Shaking off his own response to the touch for now (bat-compartmentalizing), Tim turned back to look at his computer. “ _I’m_ fine. Do you have any rashes?”

Kon shrugged. “No. But it’s not like I can see my own ass that well, so maybe.”

Tim nodded. “Okay, take off your pants.”

“What!?”

Tim looked up to see Kon looking uncharacteristically flustered, arms crossed defensively over his chest. Tim did not sigh heavily at his best friend. Gently, Tim said, “Full check up, remember? Let me take a look.” 

Sweat gleamed, highlighting the curve of Kon’s collarbone. A drop trickled down the line of Kon’s pec, past his nipple. Tim waited.

Kon opened his mouth to protest but, finding no useful protests forthcoming, he shucked his pants instead. He wasn’t wearing underwear. He glanced down at himself then over at Tim, cheeks faintly pink. Kon shrugged, “My boxers felt really uncomfortable today.”

“Oh...kay, then. Turn around, let me check the parts of you that you can’t see just by looking down,” Tim said. He didn’t let his own gaze linger on any more beads of sweat traveling along Kon’s sculpted muscles, glancing back at his computer to go through the supplemental medical information Batman made available to the hero community through Oracle, and the slightly more comprehensive file kept on the Batfamily’s personal bat-servers.

Of course, with so few Kryptonian specimens there were bat-gaps in their bat-knowledge. Little was noted about their susceptibility to disease (aside from “extremely low”), how their bodies responded to toxins other than kryptonite, and most of the description of what Batman dryly termed “baseline Kryptonian development” looked like direct quotes from someone labeled _M.K._ The phrase “well, he didn’t come with a manual” caught Tim’s eye and he smothered the bark of laughter that threatened to compromise his facade of nonchalance.

A memo in Alfred’s writing was heavily redacted aside from a note about “unusual body temperature at that time of the year”, the material composition for an item labeled “SM’s baby blanket”(!), and a short list of jaw-droppingly pricy fabric, with their ignition temperature clearly delineated in the margins. The summary note at the end of the next page made Tim frown. Hypothetically, if a Kryptonian couldn’t release some of that building heat, his nerves would overload like a circuit breaker during a power surge and some sort of switch would flip, forcing his body to figure it out on its own.

Silently running through ways to reduce fever, Tim turned back to give Kon an assessing once-over. “There’s no rash, so that’s good, I think. You can turn around again, and get dressed,” he said, before giving Kon’s shoulder a little reassuring pat. He jerked his hand back in alarm. “No wonder his secret hangout is sub-zero, you’re almost too hot to touch...” 

Kon pulled away, and Tim could hear his friend’s breathing pick up speed. “I’m hot,” he said, and his voice was hoarse. Kon turned around, trembling hands pushing his hair back. But that wasn’t the movement that caught Tim’s attention.

It swayed between Kon’s legs, fat and confusing. There weren’t pictures of this part of Kryptonian anatomy in Batman’s files. Tim had, if he was being honest with himself, been avoiding looking at or thinking about that part of Kon’s anatomy unless he was alone in his bedroom. This, though? It was different from what he’d expected. Kon’s genitals hung in a little pouch that looked a bit like a dick if you only glanced at it. But now that Tim was looking, he could see the heavy way it swung and twitched. Tim had to shake his head and force himself to look at it full-on. “That’s. Uhm. Different,” he said, feeling his cheeks heat up again.

Kon sat. The sweat on his brow was starker suddenly, and he spread his legs as though the effort of standing had made his hips and thighs hurt. “Yeah, I didn’t want to freak anyone out, so I didn’t say anything.” He dropped his hands into his lap to cover himself but the motion pressed against the pouch and it started to move. Kon jumped, chair skittering back and Tim swallowed a yell of surprise. “I-- holy shit, stop. Stop!”

It might have been funny to watch Kon yell at his dick, except that the pouch was retracting to reveal three stretchy tendrils that rose without Kon’s permission. They were long, two thin and one thick, a dusky pink that darkened to red at the tips. Tim swallowed hard and turned his head away. “I’m going to go call Superman while you get dressed.” He both did and did not want to be in the room with those fucking things. Kon could figure out how to deal with his Kryptonian period on his own.

Before he could get to the door, one tendril shot out with Kryptonian speed and wrapped around his wrist, tugging him back. “Shit, shit, Rob, I--“ Kon’s face was red and he stammered, hands down and pushing at the waving tentacles between his legs. “Stop, stop! Let him go!”

Tim tried to tug his hand free but, unsurprisingly, found the grip unbreakable. It wasn’t tight enough to bruise yet, but there was a threat in the way it squeezed every time he tried to pull away. “Kon, please,” he said, trying to keep a lid on his own emotions. “Let go so we can talk to someone who knows what to do.” Not that Tim was at all certain Superman would know what to do, but the older hero at least could drop Kon on a deserted island for a while. He tried to pry to tendril off with his free hand and the second thin one whipped out to take hold of Tim’s other wrist. Tim yelped in alarm, trying to pull his hands free. “Superboy!”

Kon was beside himself, his face red and his eyes wide and barely focused. “I can’t make it let go,” he said, and his voice rumbled. Tim shivered, trying to ignore what that voice could do to him. “I’m sorry, fuck, I’m sorry.” He had his hands pressed to his cocks, but the thick one, just as long and prehensile as the others, wrapped around his hand, thrusting lightly like a pet dog looking for affection. Tim could only watch as Kon stopped trying to pull the tentacles back. Every time Kon touched himself, it sent another visible shiver of pleasure up his body.

Tim yelled as the two thin tentacles jerked his arms up, one of them wrapping around both wrists to free the other for... he cursed as the free tentacle wormed itself under his top, tearing several of the fastenings. Against his chest it was slippery and odd, and the sensation nearly distracted him from the way Kon was staring at him with a mixture of horror and desperation.

Kon couldn’t stop it-- the slick slide against Tim’s chest made his mind go blank, and the thick cock twisted in his hands, aching to get inside Robin. His apologies were slurred and he wobbled. He whined, head tipping back slightly. “It-- it, Rob. I feels--” Kon stammered to a stop. It didn’t feel like this when he’d jerked off thinking about Cassie or Tana or Knockout. This felt like a veil had been dropped over his mind, making everything soft and diffuse and chaotic. “I’m not gay, you know,” he mumbled.

“I’ll keep that in mind for the next time you go into heat,” Tim groused and then yelped as the tentacle snapped against his nipple as though responding to the flash of Kon’s eyes. He kicked out, hoping that enough effort would make Kon snap out of it, but all it seemed to do was make the tentacle around his wrists tighten while the other heedlessly tore his costume to shreds. He hoped Alfred wouldn’t ask how he destroyed this uniform.

If Kon was in his right mind, Tim in just his gloves and boots, still kicking and fighting, would have been a pretty funny scene. Now, though. Now he couldn’t think of anything but how good his best friend would feel around him. He shouldn’t be doing this-- he couldn’t be doing this. Kon growled to himself, trying desperately to force himself into some semblance of control, but he ached and burned all over. His thick cock strained against his tight grip and then suddenly broke free to stroke Tim’s body. Kon’s hands dropped to his sides and he lay back into his seat, legs spread wide.

It wasn’t the first time Tim had been tied and held in the air over someone, but it never stopped being somewhat uncomfortable. He shifted on his tiptoes as the tendril pulled him up-- Kon knew somewhere in the back of his mind how to control his opponents even when out of his mind. The thought was a spark of amusement in the darkness, even though Tim didn’t enjoy being one of Kon’s “opponents'' like this. It kept him from kicking or getting enough leverage to twist out of Kon’s grip while the two tentacles roamed over him, rubbing and toying with him. In another situation, Tim might have even let himself enjoy the feeling of one of Kon’s dicks wrapping around his own and stroking in a slow, intense corkscrew motion. His legs spread without his conscious mind’s permission, letting Kon stroke him to hardness.

The room was quiet, Kon falling silent aside from his groans and the squeak of the chair as his hips shifted. He was clutching his thighs, refusing to get up, although he shuddered with the need for another body against him. He whined, high pitched.

The biggest of Kon’s tentacles rubbed gentle circles around Tim’s balls and down his perineum, leaving him slick and shivering. “Don’t do this,” he warned, but his legs were spread to accommodate the tentacle between his thighs.

Tim and Kon’s eyes met as the tentacle pushed in, slow but inexorable. Pain spiked up Tim’s back, but a tentacle was already stroking him back to hardness and the thick thing inside him was wet and moved easily when Tim tried to relax. Gasping breaths dropped from Kon’s lips and he stared at Tim as though this was the only thing he could ever imagine seeing, his eyes wide and darker than Tim had ever seen them. “Fuck,” Kon said and the thick tentacle pulled out and slammed back in. The sensation was white hot, Tim unable to tell whether he was in pain from being stretched to his limit or if it felt good to be opened up so deeply.

Kon’s hands clenched at his sides. “Rob, Robin, fuck, Robin, this feels so fucking...” he stammered the words, hips kicking up, and the motion translated to the tentacle stroking Tim harder, tendrils twisting in ways that Tim didn’t know was possible. He whined and gave in, wrapping his hands around the based of his dicks and massaging them in time with the tentacle fucking Tim. “I’m sorry, I need--.” Kon was a mess of half-sentences and mindless need.

Tim hissed, no words coming to him as Kon pounded deep into him, the thick, slick tentacle so big Kon couldn’t miss rubbing over his prostate with every thrust. Tim shook his head, trying to hold himself together. He would _not_ come like this. He could control himself. He could.

Tim came with a cry, clenching around that big intrusion.

The dick didn’t still, rocking into him until neither of them could think beyond oversensitive flesh. Kon’s orgasm came with a sharp, sob as his dick squirmed and oozed until neither of them could think beyond their oversensitive, interlocked flesh.

Kon rode out the aching pleasure like a wave, leaving him gasping on the shore. He threw his head back, laying boneless in the chair for a minute.

“I’m sticky, let me down.” Tim tugged at his arms, still held in by an unmoving tentacle. Untangling his tentacles from Robin felt a bit like unclenching a tight fist, awkward and stiff. “Do you feel better now?” Tim asked, rubbing circulation back into his wrists.

Kon could barely look up, a hot crawl of shame making him burn. A single glance told him that his friend had slipped on his best _I’m a Bat, I Don’t Have Emotions_ mask. “Yeah,” he said. “I feel less like death.”

“Great. Well, now that we know this happens, we should start keeping track of dates so you don’t get stuck somewhere public the next time.”

“Are you okay?” Kon tilted his head, concern and awkward excitement brightening his eyes. “Uh, we…”

“No, I’m good,” Tim said, keeping his voice steady though his ears burned. “I’ll, yeah, I’ll be point on this. With you. So.”

“Good, cool, okay. Yeah, okay.” When Kon grinned, the curl at the center of his forehead bounced. Insufferable. Adorable. 

_Oh boy,_ thought Tim, Kon’s infectious amusement twisting one corner of his mouth up. _I’m so screwed._


End file.
